


Definition

by sneaqui



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: inception_kink, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneaqui/pseuds/sneaqui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this kink meme prompt: <i>Arthur finds out that Eames has ass dimples. He's so turned on he doesn't know what to do with himself. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Definition

**Author's Note:**

> Betas: [ladderax (allnuthatchforest)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/allnuthatchforest) (who deserves half the credit for "queen and country") and [herinfiniteeyes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/herinfiniteeyes).

Eames is lying on his front, head resting on his folded arms. He smiles and hums as Arthur moves down his back, pressing gentle kisses to every notch in his spine.

Arthur wraps both hands around Eames’ arse, cupping the firm swell of flesh through his trousers. He leans down to murmur into Eames’ ear, “I wanna eat you out. Fuck you with my fingers until you come. Is that okay?”

“By all means,” Eames practically sings. He stretches his arms over his head, presses his temple into the cool cotton of the fitted sheet. His head is heavy, and his eyes are dry with exhaustion, and he’s very happy to be home.

The job went on for two weeks longer than it was supposed to which means he hasn’t seen Arthur in two months. Phone sex and fingering himself in the shower just doesn’t cut it when he knows that this is what he’s missing. Sex in the afternoon, slow and lazy. Sunlight the color of honey seeping through the curtains and time stretching out in front of them.

“You look good,” Arthur murmurs, the words bookended by kisses. His fingers trace the deepened valleys between the muscles on Eames’ back. “What was the occasion?”

For a moment, Eames considers lying. But he knows well that deceit tends to snowball. He says, “I had to play an escort.”

Arthur freezes, and Eames turns his head to see that Arthur’s expression has shifted into something cold and brittle. Arthur clears his throat. “You... Did you––I mean, did you have to-”

“Did I fuck anyone? Is that what you want to know?”

“No.” Arthur looks affronted. “No, I know you wouldn’t––” He shakes his head as if trying to dispel unpleasant thoughts. “I trust you. You know that. It’s just that...” Arthur sighs. He looks up at Eames and makes a noble attempt at a smile. “Was he cute at least?”

“She was a seventy three year old widow.”

Arthur’s smile morphs into something real, but he persists. “And?”

“And you have nothing to worry about, love. Andy was a Cancer and she was a Gemini, and we just weren’t compatible.”

“Really?” Arthur chuckles. He returns to the task of trailing his lips down Eames’ spine, his curls falling forward over his face to brush against Eames’ skin.

“Really. I showed up to an awards dinner wearing a pink dress shirt and she was horrified. Insisted I go back to the hotel and change. She said, ‘Men don’t wear pink’.”

“But that was part of the act, right? Being clueless.”

“Of course it was. Andy wasn’t capable of solving a ten by ten crossword puzzle.”

“Mmm. Wish I could’ve seen you. You look good in pink.”

“I look better naked. And you’re the only one that gets to see me like that.” Eames turns his head again so that he can look at Arthur when he says, “You know that, don’t you? You know that you’re...” He trails off, sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “You’re the only... And I would never––”

“Eames, it’s okay. Don’t hurt yourself.” Arthur smiles and kisses his temple before shifting back down the bed. He begins to slide Eames’ trousers down over his arse, and then he stops suddenly and says, voice deep and reverent, “Fuck. Where did these come from?”

Eames looks over his shoulder. “Where did what come from?”

Arthur appears to be hypnotized by Eames’ lower back. He darts his tongue out to wet his lips and smiles. “You have dimples.” He wraps his hands around Eames’ hips and brushes his thumbs over the shallow indents in his flesh. “I noticed you were more defined, but I didn’t expect these.”

“Neither did I.” Eames peers down his back in a futile attempt to get a good look at them. “Lovely. Now my arse matches your face.”

Eames earns a swift, hard smack on the bum for that one, and he groans and tilts his hips up, suddenly eager.

Arthur chuckles and leans forward to kiss a wet trail down Eames’ back toward the cleft of his arse, abruptly switching direction at the last moment so that he can dip his tongue briefly into one of Eames’ dimples. His lips glide across Eames’ spine to the other one, and he nibbles on the raised flesh around it before forming a seal with his lips and sucking gently.

The heat and pressure of Arthur’s mouth sends a ripple of pleasure down the base of Eames’ spine and into his pelvis, making his bollocks tighten and his cock swell against his belly. He presses his head into the mattress and murmurs, “Arthur. Fuck-”

“I know,” Arthur says and leans up to kiss him, soft and slow––nothing more than a lazy pull on his lips. “I know, babe. Just relax. I’ll take care of you.” He skates his palms down Eames’ ribs, kisses his shoulder and then moves back down the bed to summarily divest Eames of his trousers and his briefs. They land on the floor with a gentle thud, and Arthur’s t-shirt joins them a moment later.

Arthur says, “Move up the bed,” and Eames does, tossing aside the truly ridiculous number of pillows they have in order to make room.

Arthur lays down on his belly between Eames’ thighs, grips his arse cheeks and parts them. He dips his face between them and inhales deeply, groans, “Jesus. I missed you. Missed the way you taste.” He buries his face deeper, and his tongue darts out to swipe across Eames’ hole in a series of quick teasing licks.

Eames can feel himself opening and clenching against Arthur’s tongue, and he clings to the top sheet, riding out the pleasure.

Arthur flattens his tongue to stroke Eames’ hole with long hard swipes, occasionally pulling back to blow cool air against his skin. He sets up a steady, slow rhythm, causing Eames to writhe against the sheets in an attempt to escape his own skin.

As always, Arthur is there to ground him. He wraps his hands around Eames’ waist and presses his thumbs into his dimples. Eames gasps at the sudden and unexpected pressure in his pelvis, and the muscles in his thighs lock up. But when Arthur moves his thumbs down to massage his back just above his arse, Eames melts and his legs fall further open, his knees sliding along the sheets.

Eames pushes his arse into the air, and Arthur takes the hint and reaches underneath Eames’ belly to stroke his cock. He presses it against Eames’ stomach and slides his palm up and down the shaft, teases Eames’ slit with his thumb. His other hand spreads Eames open again so that he can circle the raised pink ridge of Eames’ entrance with his tongue.

Eames is panting heavily, beads of sweat snaking down his temples and dripping into the sheets. He rocks his hips in desperation, forward into Arthur’s hand and back into his mouth, needing more pressure on his cock and his arsehole but too out of his mind to know which is going to get him off.

Arthur buries his face from nose to chin between Eames’ arse cheeks and groans long and deep. The vibrations send a jolt of pleasure straight to Eames’ cock and it jerks in Arthur’s hand, a pulse of precome slicking Arthur’s palm. “Fuck,” Eames whimpers. “Arthur. Need you––Need you inside me.”

But Arthur is not to be dissuaded once he has his mind set on something. He takes his hand from Eames’ cock and places it across his lower back, pushes his hips down into the mattress.

Eames moans and rubs his cock into the soft cotton sheet as Arthur ducks down to curl his tongue around Eames’ balls. He sucks one into his mouth and massages it with his tongue as he trails his thumb up Eames’ perineum. When he presses it to Eames’ hole and pushes, it slips right in to the first knuckle. Eames gasps and bites down on the fitted sheet, cants his hips back so that it slides in deeper.

“Fuck,” Arthur whispers, and Eames wishes he could see his face right now. Eyes black and lips chapped. Cheeks and chin pink and wet from eating Eames out. Hair damp and clinging to his neck and his temples. “You don’t even need any lube, do you?” Arthur slides his thumb out of Eames’ hole until he’s being penetrated by just the tip, and then he slips it back in and crooks it, pulls Eames open gently so he can push the tip of his tongue in as well.

It’s agony trying to hold still while Arthur plays with him. Eames’ balls are heavy, and his cock is aching and he knows that he’s going to come the instant Arthur’s thumb grazes his prostate. He bites down on the sheet so hard that he pierces it with one of his canines.

He hears the clattering of a belt buckle and a quick zip. He moans, “Fuck yes, Arthur. Get your cock out.”

“Could come just from watching you. You should see yourself. Fucking gorgeous.” The mattress dips as Arthur gets up on his knees. His hands disappear from a moment, and Eames hears the slide of skin against skin and a choked moan as Arthur begins to stroke his cock.

Eames is about to open his mouth to make a request when Arthur slides his middle finger into Eames’ arse. He lets out a sigh of relief and pushes back. “Yes. Fuck yes, Arthur. Fuck me.”

Arthur sets a hard, steady pace, and every thrust pushes Eames’ hips into the mattress, his foreskin pulling back so that the sheets and the skin on his belly rub against the exposed tip of his cock. Eames relaxes into Arthur’s rhythm, allows the pleasure to wash over him in increasing waves.

Arthur adds another finger, and the two of them slide into Eames’ arse just as easily as the first one did. “Jesus Christ,” Arthur says. “You kept yourself busy, didn’t you? Did you fuck yourself with your fingers while you were gone?”

“Brought the vibrator with me. Fucked myself and imagined it was your cock.”

“Where? When?”

“Every day. In the shower. In bed. Once on the couch in the hotel room while the rest of the team were out getting lunch. Fuck, Arthur. I needed it. Needed you.”

“While we were on the phone together?”

“Christ, yes. Your voice in my ear and your cock in my arse. You made me come so hard.”

“Eames,” Arthur growls and falls forward over Eames’ back, the hot hard length of his cock rubbing against the back of Eames’ thigh. His hand lands on Eames’ lower back, pinning his hips to the mattress. He grunts as he shoves three fingers into Eames’ arse and crooks them, searching for Eames’ prostate.

Eames gasps and tilts his hips back, and when the pads of Arthur’s fingers brush against it, he sobs, “There. Fuck. There Arthur, don’t stop.”

“Yes. Fuck yes,” Arthur pants as he fucks Eames roughly with his fingers and ruts shamelessly against the meat of his thigh. “You’re gonna make me come, Eames. Gonna come all over your ass, your back. Fill up those fucking dimples. Fuck.”

Eames presses his forehead into the mattress and grips the sheet in his fists and pumps his hips wildly, fucking his cock into the mattress and his arse back onto Arthur’s fingers. He’s close, so fucking close. Arthur’s fingers are filling him and kissing his prostate on every thrust, and his cock is pulsing precome and soaking his stomach and the sheets.

And then Arthur wraps his lips around one of Eames’ dimples and sucks, and Eames arches his back and comes, spilling across the sheets and gasping as Arthur fucks him through it with his fingers. Eames’ head falls down onto the mattress, and he gulps down air as the aftershocks wrack his body.

Once Eames’ orgasm fades and his breathing begins to settle, Arthur pulls out gently. Eames turns his head with what little energy he has left so that he can watch as Arthur wraps his fingers around his cock and jerks himself hard and fast.

He’s bowed over Eames’ back, mouth slack and abs clenching as his orgasm builds. He digs his fingers into the muscles on Eames’ back and pumps his cock rapidly as he whimpers, “Oh god, Eames,” and comes. Cloudy white droplets land on Eames’ back and arse and collect in warm shallow puddles in his dimples. Eames smiles and tucks his head into the crook of his elbow to watch as Arthur pulls the last drops of come from his cock, one hand on Eames’ hip to keep himself from falling over.

Eames’ eyelids begin to droop, and he lets them fall shut, too exhausted to care if he wakes up tomorrow morning stuck to the sheets.

“You’re about to fall asleep on me, aren’t you?” Arthur says.

“Actually, I’m about to fall asleep beneath you,” Eames says. He cracks an eyelid open. “And you look as if you’re about to collapse yourself.”

Arthur shrugs. “I don’t sleep well when you’re gone,” he confesses, easy as breathing. He swipes his thumb through the come in one of Eames’ dimples, smiles. “I like these. Can we keep them?”

“Just so long as you don’t insist on naming them.”

“Thing 1 and Thing 2,” Arthur suggests.

“Mmm. Roosevelt and Churchill.” Eames yawns.

Arthur steps off the bed and stumbles to the bathroom, says over his shoulder, “Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern.”

“Ricky and Lucy.”

Arthur reappears with a wet towel. “Beyonce and Jay-Z.”

Eames chuckles as Arthur cleans his back. “Queen and Country.”

Arthur rolls him over to run the towel across his belly. “I think we should name your balls Queen and Country. That way, when you’re about to come, I can say, ‘C’mon, Eames. Do it for Queen and Country!’”

Eames doesn’t think it would be half as funny if he weren’t sleep-deprived and loopy. But he is. He brings his hands up to his face so he can snicker into his palms as Arthur slides into bed next to him. He turns onto his side, still giggling, so that Arthur can spoon up behind him.

He’s about to nod off when a wild thought appears in his head. “Arthur?”

“Whud?” Arthur mumbles, face mashed into Eames’ shoulder.

“Do you want to fuck Andy?”

“No,” Arthur answers immediately.

“You’re sure? You don’t want to fuck a fit but slightly stupid twenty six year old rent boy?” Eames isn’t trying to entice or test him. More than anything, he’s curious.

“I’m sure.” His hand slides up Eames’ thigh to curl around his hip. “But we can keep his dimples, right? At least for a little while?”

Eames tilts his head back into the pillow and smiles. “Of course, love. We can keep his dimples.”


End file.
